


The Crimson Coneflower

by SilentWonder



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentWonder/pseuds/SilentWonder
Summary: For koosei#8522
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Haurchefant Greystone, Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11
Collections: Valentine's Fic Exchange 2020





	The Crimson Coneflower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [koosei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/koosei/gifts).



Aymeric raised his head as the door to his office slowly opened. He watched for a moment as the door creaked.

“Hello, Haurchefant.”

The door swung open the rest of the way, revealing a panting silver-haired elven man, whose eyes darted this way and that.

Aymeric’s gaze took him in – the tousled hair, the mismatched buttons. “If you were half as lively when I arose this morning, I would have delayed my departure,” he said wryly. “What stirs the great sleeping Haurche?”

“A missive arrived.” Haurche dropped a roll of parchment, it’s seal already broken, on the desk in front of Aymeric. Aymeric picked it up and unrolled it. His eyes scanned the lines.

“The WoL—” Aymeric stood up so quickly he jolted the desk. An inkwell briefly teetered on its side.

“Is arriving in three days,” Haurche finished.

“That’s not much time!” Aymeric’s mind was set awhirl. “We should have a banquet. That will mean going to the market. We’ll need to hire chefs. Butlers. Perhaps even some housekeepers. The master suite hasn’t been aired since—”

“Since she was last here.” Haurche gently set the teetering inkwell back on its bottom. “And don’t worry about all that. I saw to it before coming here.”

“All of it? Including the banquet?”

“All of it. Contrary to your opinion, I can stir before noon, given the right incentive.”

Aymeric blinked, the sudden chaos of his mind stopped in his tracks. “Well then. What’s left for us to do?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Haurche took a piece of paper from his pocket and slid it across the desk. Aymeric looked down. It was a delicate painting of a pink flower. Aymeric looked up.

“A coneflower?”

“Remember, that one time in Churning Mists, when we came across a patch of them?”

“It was before Nidhogg. Before the Aery.” The memory arose unbidden in Aymeric’s mind. The Aery, looming before them. The WoL, looking down at the beauty around their ankles rather than at the monstrosity in the sky. The WoL, the savior and slayer of worlds, picking and burying her nose in a small, delicate flower.

“’This would be the perfect flower, if only it were red,’” both Aymeric and Haurche said in unison.

Aymeric looked at Haurche, noting the twinkle of a smile around his eyes. “And I suppose you know where to get such a flower.”

Haurche looked gleeful. “Through dint of great study, I have discovered—”

“Students of Saint Endalim's Scholasticate, no doubt,” said Aymeric under his breath.

“They were happy to! Anyways, according to some ancient botany tome, the common coneflower will bloom crimson if it occurs where elder dragon’s blood has spilled.” Haurche looked at him, triumphant.

“The Aery.” Aymeric gazed into his memories. “But Nidhogg didn’t die.”

“No, but the WoL did spill some blood. Regardless, the Steps of Faith are…significantly more inhospitable to plant life. I checked,” Haurche added.

“Even in the best of conditions, it will take us most of a day to get there,” Aymeric felt Haurche’s infectious glee. And yet, as the temporary ruler of Ishgard—

“So we leave today, reach the Aery by nightfall, climb to the summit and back tomorrow, and be back here on the afternoon of the day after. Well in advance of the WoL arriving.”

Aymeric’s mind presented the face of the WoL, drew the details of her joy as he imagined presenting her with the blossom. And her embrace.

“Very well. Send in Lucia, will you? I need to brief her on several matters before I abdicate my responsibilities for this dalliance.”

\-----

The path to the summit of the Aery had worsened since Aymeric saw it last, more a swirling tangle of brush and roots than anything befitting humans. Much better suited to those who spent more time in the air than on the ground. Aymeric and Haurche had been forced to leave the craft so well designed by Cid at the entrance to the Aery, as they would not have had room to maneuver the craft through much of it.

“Damnable broodlings.” Haurche’s sword sliced through yet another writhing neck. “One would have thought Nidhogg’s demise would have sapped some of their savagery, instead of increasing it.”

Aymeric’s sword whistled towards another broodling as it lunged at him through the brush. “Perhaps without the overarching control of an elder dragon, they no longer have anything to fetter their base instincts.” The broodling squirmed as Aymeric’s blade pinned it’s neck to the stone beneath them. “Regardless, at our current pace, we will be hard pressed to arrive back in Ishgard tomorrow eve.” His eyes scanned the brush. It was still, at least for the time being.

Being here, in this place—made it easy to remember. The WoL, confidently striding forward on a nearly-invisible path, her long red-brown hair somehow immune to the reaching of stick and twig, her cat ears swiveling this way and that. Watching her fight, seeing the light in her eyes. And in Ishgard, after—

“Aymeric! You doing well?” Haurche’s voice jolted him out of his reverie. “We will most certainly be late if you gaze into the distance.”

“I am…well.” Aymeric’s eyes focused on Haurche’s lithe form as he took a step forward. He quickened his pace.

What had happened in Ishgard, after…

\-----

The sun had nigh vanished from the horizon and given up the ghost amid the twistings of the Aery by the time they had reached the Aery proper, the place where WoL had faced Nidhogg on his own ground. Aymeric’s eyes scanned the ground. If the crimson coneflower was not to be found—

“Over here!” he heard Haurche cry.

Aymeric rushed over to find Haurche close to the middle of the arena, kneeling over a slightly damp depression. The depression held a single, solitary flower, it’s crimson petals curling slightly.

Only one.

“Shall I…carry it?” Aymeric wished he had thought to ask sooner what their intended transportation was, only to see Haurche removing the lid from a jar.

“And make you fight one handed? How you jest.” Haurche plucked the flower from it’s base and placed it in the jar. “We shall doubtless require both of your hands ere we descend this mountain.”

“I could battle you one armed and declare myself the victor ere we began,” said Aymeric, flourishing his sword in demonstration.

Haurche stood up, placing the jar with its priceless cargo into his knapsack. “I’d rather see parts of you other than your arms. We should best set up a camp before all of the light vanishes.”

Aymeric shook his head, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “We had best keep watch. Fury herself only knows what manner of beasts remain up here.” He caught Haurche looking at him and felt the redness in his cheeks grow as Haurche gave him a roguish half-smile.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Haurche said.

Aymeric blinked. He was being shaken awake.

“Wake, damn you!” Haurche said. “We’re surrounded.”

Aymeric’s hand was on his sword before he had fully arisen off the ground. Just in reach of the firelight were faint reflections, flickering in and out like so many fireflies.

Not fireflies. Eyes.

He and Haurche stood, backs facing each other across the fire.

“There’s at least twelve,” Haurche said. “Not sure why they haven’t attacked yet.”

“Perhaps the fire?” They’d discussed it; they had concluded the warmth and visibility it gave them outweighed the risk of a flame possibly attracting attention. Aymeric now doubted the wisdom of that decision.

“Doubt it. Fire is sort of their thing,” said Haurche dryly. “Careful, there’s a cliff about five yalms to your left.”

Aymeric looked up. A thin grey line was on the horizon in the east. At least dawn would soon arrive.

There was a swish. Aymeric looked over his shoulder to see a leathery beast-like creature lunge itself at Haurche. His sword, already in his hand, leapt forth. There was a spray of crimson as the sword sliced into the creature’s throat.

The yellow orb had fairly risen when all the foes were either dead or had fled. Aymeric’s eyes crossed those of Haurche, and then he looked about at the bodies littering the area around their campfire.

“I’ve had more passionate mornings,” said Haurche, dryly. “Perhaps we should round out our visit here with a little action of our own.”

“Nightfall will at best see us around Tailfeather.” Aymeric started looking around. “As much as I would care to indulge your whims. Where’s the knapsack?”

“Knapsack?” Haurche looked confused.

“With the crimson coneflower!”

The two of them frantically looked around the area for several minutes, including flipping over bodies of the forcibly and recently deceased. Aymeric walked over to the cliff edge and peered over.

“Haurche! It’s here!”

The knapsack was indeed there, precariously hanging onto a branch several yalms from where they stood.

Haurche started climbing down towards it.

“Haurche! What are you doing!”

“We came all this way,” said Haurche. “Fury damn me if we leave it. Only…another…yalm.”

“Be cautious,” Aymeric advised, perhaps unneccessarily. He shuddered as Haurche half-climbed, half-fell through the brush clinging onto the side of the mountain. He watched as Haurche leaned over and reached towards the knapsack, just barely out of reach of his fingertips.

There was a crack, and Haurche started falling through the underbrush of twigs.

Before he had consciously registered it, Aymeric had himself lunged halfway down the cliff face and grabbed Haurche’s shirt with one hand while using the other one to haul onto a gnarled root.

“Haurche! Are you all right?!”

“I just need a few more ilms! It didn't fall far!”

The two of them dropped as the root slipped.

The knapsack slipped from its precarious perch and fell away.

“No!” Haurche howled. Aymeric tightened his grip to keep Haurche from slipping out of it.

“Forget the flower!” Aymeric said in his most commanding voice. Then, under his breath, “The WoL will never forgive me if something happened to you!” 

“I can reach it!” Haurche attempted to squirm out of his grip.

“I could not bear to lose you again!” Aymeric gripped Haurche’s shirt tighter as the memory flashed before his eyes – Haurche, a Knight of the Round, that spear of light—

He felt Haurche freeze under him. He went on. “That eve, as the bishop fled Ishgard. I thought you would have fain died there.”

“But I didn’t.” Haurche still didn’t move.

“And yet, in my dreams,” Aymeric went on, “I yet see you there. As if, in another realm, you had. I ask that you give my dreams no more such fodder. Now up!”

Haurche twisted and took his hand. Their eyes met. Aymeric was acutely aware of the wind whistling by their heads.

“Well, I’ll distress you no more than is necessary.” Between the two of them, they helped each other climb back up. “Shame about the flower.”

“We could look for another one?” said Aymeric. “Although I don’t know how we’d carry it down without crushing it.”

“If we do that, the WoL may have already left Ishgard by the time we return.” Haurche poked him playfully. “Don’t make me be the responsible one.”

Aymeric sighed. “So our whole journey here was for naught?”

“We spent time together, didn’t we?” said Haurche.

Aymeric felt a surge of warmth in his heart. “So we did.”

\-----

The way down proved nearly as treacherous and unwilling to permit easy passage as the way up; they had not yet returned to the aircraft as the sun, in all its light, proceeded to dip below the horizon. They decided to make camp where they were, on a small ledge with a full view of the Churning Mists. Aymeric watched as Haurche struck flint in an attempt to get a small fire going.

“Do you think she misses us as much as we miss her?” said Aymeric.

Haurche paused. “Probably. But you know. She goes forth slaying primals, keeping back the empire. We have our own duties here. It makes the time we spend together more precious.”

“Do you think she’ll miss us tonight?” Aymeric pulled out several satchels of food.

Haurche carefully fed a twig to the feeble flame he’d started. “I’m sure she misses us every night. If the Fury was just, we’d all spend each night in the same bed. Alas, the laws of space and time seem to only permit the two of us to do so on the regular.”

“It’s a sizeable loss, when she’s gone.” Aymeric sighed.

“Don’t worry, my old friend. I know it’s her you’re looking for when you roll over to my side.”

“Why, I—”

Haurche laughed, a great, silvery laugh. “I’m sure we’ll have time tomorrow. Just the three of us.”

“Why not tonight?”

The new, yet familiar, voice rippled through Aymeric like a jolt of lightning. His head whipped around to see Her, the WoL, standing framed by the brush on the edge of the ledge. He leapt up.

“How—”

“Did I find you? Your voices, silly.” She stalked past him with a cat-like grace, setting her pack down next to his. “Half this mountain could have heard you.” She turned to face them. “Now come here, my boys.”

In a brief moment both Aymeric and Haurche found themselves being crushed in the grip of the WoL, both her arms wrapped around them. She released them. “Now come, let us eat. I see Haurche was actually able to get a flame going this time.”

“The flower.” Aymeric pointed to the wilted crimson bloom tucked into the WoL’s shirt button.

“Oh, this? Yea, found it surrounded by shattered glass. Most beautiful flower, don’t you think? Anyways, what were you boys doing on this mountain?”

Aymeric’s eyes met Haurche’s. He smiled.

The sun had sunk by the time they finished eating and recounting their tale; Aymeric and Haurche sat side-by-side while the WoL sprawled across their laps. Her head rested in Aymeric’s staring up at him, while her tail curled around Haurche’s neck.

“How I’ve missed my boys. To think,” she said, “you two came all the way here to find a flower for me.”

Aymeric stroked her head and put an arm around Haurche. Haurche leaned into him. “We’re together, and that’s what counts.”

For that night, at least.


End file.
